


Off the Pages

by crownuponherhead



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 12:17:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12432660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownuponherhead/pseuds/crownuponherhead
Summary: Moments from the calendar that somehow pushed them together.





	Off the Pages

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing, I haven't written fic since I was in middle school. I've been lurking in the Jonsa tags for a few months now though and I felt inspiration and I wanted to do something that was simple. So let me know if it's good or terrible or whatever, in general I keep a lot of things vague in my writing so I don't rant too much. So you can imagine whatever careers and such you wish. Also this could probably be one of those 5 + fics with how it's set up but i don't know. This is honestly the most random thing I felt the need to write.

**i.**

She’s not sure when it started, maybe it had been like this since the beginning, when what was supposed to be sleepless nights all by herself had turned into nights with his company sitting on the kitchen floor of the flat he shared with her brother, that she’d practically invaded into when she found herself free, although she wouldn’t use that word to describe it. She didn’t feel free sitting on the kitchen floor with tear stained eyes drinking tea in the middle of the night as she leaned against her brother’s best friend. No matter what this was, she didn’t mean for it to happen.  Right now, though it’s almost three thirty in the morning the week before Halloween and their talking about costumes for the party she knows will end up in their flat instead of Margaery’s like intended. She blames her brother’s are they aren’t they relationship with her best friend on that one.

“You could always be one of those 80’s Barbies, that would be a safe bet.” He doesn’t have to ask why she wants to be covered up, he saw on accident after the first week of her living here and she thought she was home alone. Sometimes it was nice to just be in shorts in a tank top, it was less suffocating. However, she only did it because she thought she was alone. Jon never brought it up, but he knew why she was hesitant. 

“Can you see me in a Barbie costume?” She questioned laughing a bit, but he knew he probably could. She was the girl that was every single princess imaginable since a young girl, in fact she knew he had seen at least a large number of these costumes with his own eyes. “Don’t answer that, Snow.” She teased looking up at him. “And you, you should be Harry Potter, all your missing is the scar on your forehead with your glasses and your hair.”

When she hears him hum in response Sansa let’s a rare thought cross her mind, one she pushes down most of the time. How nice it would be to be his Ginny.

  

 

 In the end, he ends up as a Greaser and she’s a very covered Kim Possible.  They spend the night making fun of how ridiculous Robb and Margaery are  and stay hidden in the kitchen of the flat. If they both keep glancing at the others lips throughout the night, neither of them seem to bring it up.

 

**ii.**

 

“Sans, it looks like Christmas threw up in here.” She instantly turns around to give her brother a glare from the ladder she stands on putting garland up around the living room.

 

“And? Are you saying you don’t want to be in the Christmas spirit until we go back home?” Robb doesn’t fight her after that and Jon had to stop himself from laughing at the interaction Since moving in Sansa had given things her own touch, there were fresh flowers on the table and pillows on the couch. It was subtle touches, but they were enough to notice.

 

“No, but we don’t need it to be fucking Whoville in here, right Jon?”

 

Jon isn’t sure which Stark sibling is more terrifying. Sure, maybe Sansa went a bit too far, but he can smell the cookies in the oven and see how much time she put into it. There’s no reason to take it down the same day. “It’s not that bad, at least it’s better than the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree we usually put up.”

 

“Don’t insult Charlie Brown’s tree like that, the one you both have is much worse.”

 

Neither of the guys can argue with that nor do they argue when they’re eating cookies later that night.

 

 

**iii.**

Sansa’s drunk of eggnog, but then again so is he. It’s a fact that she should not look as good in the ugly sweater she has on that she does. They’re sitting on the couch of the flat, laughing at the old cartoon version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas that plays silently in the background. She can’t remember when they sat down but somehow she’s ended up across his lap leaning into his chest as they joke around.

 

“Oh don’t be such a Grinch, Snow.” She slurs letting her hand run through his curls.

 

“I am not being a Grinch.”

 

“You are too. Talking about not coming home with us for Christmas, that’s what Grinches would say.”

 

He doesn’t respond to her, instead Jon to just runs his hands through her long red hair that’s falling off the couch.

 

“If you don’t come home for Christmas with us, I’ll miss you.”

 

Jon has to remind himself that she’s drunk, that he’s drunk, and they wouldn’t be having this conversation if they both were sober. So he changes the conversation and starts making fun of the film again with her. 

 

 

That’s where he’s wrong. She doesn’t give up until he’s sitting in the backseat of Robb’s Land Rover with her three days before Christmas. She’s reading a book her head against the window no doubt trying to drown out the flirting from Robb and Margaery at the front of the car. He must have been staring though, because after a minute or two she looks up at him with a genuine smile that had only ghosted her lips lately instead of sticking as it did now.

 

**iv.**

He only said yes to dancing with her because of the look on her face. He didn’t dance, she knew it too. However, as they sway around on the dance floor in at her parents’ house as the New Year’s Eve party goes on around them. Sansa has her head against his shoulder, her heels kicked off hours ago and his arms are wrapped tightly around her.

 

“Thank you for dancing with me and for coming home for the Holliday’s.” Neither of them say a word when he presses a kiss to her forehead.

 

When the countdown starts, she’s looking at him with her bright eyes and lips pressed together in a line.  They’re next to each other with glasses of champagne in each of their hands, shoulders touching. When it reaches one there’s not even a second of hesitation before their lips meet. It’s short and sweet under the guise of tradition. He tells himself she needs space still. She tells herself he only sees her as his best friends sister. They’re both wrong.

 

 

New Years Day they both wake up curled against each other in the bed of the guest bedroom, she’s in a pair of leggings and his button down from the night before, he’s in a pair of his sweats and t-shirt.  They’re both on top of the covers. It’s the most innocent yet intimate things either of them have had in a long time, if ever. 

 

**v.**

They don’t avoid each other, maybe they should have, it might have made it less awkward when they both ended up on the couch in the flat for Valentine’s Day. Instead they share a pizza, she drinks her wine, and he his beer, they watch episodes of Bob’s Burger’s laughing and inching toward each other. Before they know it their foreheads are against one another as they’re breaking apart for air. She thought maybe they could chalk it up to loneliness if he pulled away. She’s praying he doesn’t pull away.

 

He doesn’t.

 

They don’t make it to either of their bedrooms for the first time. Or the second, that’s for the hallway. The third they make it to his room.

 

 

On February 15th, they wake up to yelling in the living room, then the hallway, and then it’s outside of his bedroom door. The knock is not nearly enough warning; she’s only managed to throw one of his t-shirts on over herself by the time her brother and Margaery walk in to the bedroom. Robb has a look of betrayal and disgust all at once. Margaery looks too cocky, a smirk that screams ‘I told you so’ on her face. She barely lets him go through his speech of how his best friend, who is more like his brother, could defile his sister before announcing she should let the betting pool know that they all owe her 20 bucks.


End file.
